


yes, i think we were destiny, my darling

by thesetearsthatfall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Fate & Destiny, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, No Angst, Not Epilogue Compliant, Romance, Soulmates, and speaks french, harry and draco are in love, mentions of hogwarts, painter Draco, yea draco paints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22222903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesetearsthatfall/pseuds/thesetearsthatfall
Summary: “do you think we were fated to be together?”
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 169





	yes, i think we were destiny, my darling

**Author's Note:**

> ignore any typos im illiterate

“You make me wish Cedric Diggory was alive and bent,” Harry said.

“You make me wish I was into tits and Astoria Greengrass,” Draco retorted.

Harry snorted. “You make me wish I was in love with Cho Chang,” Harry shot back.

“You make me wish I could be in love with Pansy Parkinson.”

“You make me wish I was in love with Hermione Granger.”

“You make me wish I was in love with Blaise Zabini.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Zabini?”

“Yes, Zabini, what’s wrong with him?”

Harry shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like your type, that’s all,” he said.

Draco hummed in agreement. “Loving him would be simple, I think. Simpler than being in love with _you_ ,” he said, poking Harry in the chest.

Harry couldn’t argue with that.

“You make me wish I was in love with the Muggle barista that makes those iced coffees,” was all he said.

It was a game they often played, the “ _you make me wish I was in love with…_ ” It started during a fight when Draco shouted that he wished he was in love with Astoria instead of Harry. Up until that point, it had been the closest thing to “ _I love you_ ” either of the boys had spoken. From then on, it has become a bit of an inside joke between them. It was a way of saying _I love you_ without actually having to say it.

Loving Draco was not simple. It meant blistering fights and balled fists and angry, blazing eyes. It meant having to deal with Draco’s crabby moods and his dull books lying around _everywhere_. It wasn’t easy, but Harry had never been foolish enough to think that loving Draco _could_ be.

And Harry does love Draco, more than he even thought possible. He loves how Draco speaks fluent French and plays the piano and calls Harry “ _mon chéri,_ ” which Harry later learns means _my darling_. He loves that, more often than not, Draco can usually be found with a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. He loves that Draco _paints_ , deep indigo and bright coral colliding together to make vivid, abstract shapes on the canvas. Painting was calming for him, he told Harry one night, after showing him painting after painting of golden honey snitches and snow-capped mountains and, on one particular canvas, a boy with green eyes and thin, silver glasses. Harry had been delighted when he discovered that Draco had a creative streak. He had been even more joyous when he found out that Draco sometimes painted _him_.

It doesn't escape Harry how utterly ridiculous it is, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, a former Death Eater and the Savior of the Wizarding world, in love. _In love._

A love that burns, vivid and dazzling as starlight.

They shouldn’t be in love, but they are.

Harry thinks it’s a bit like fate.

* * *

Their hands were clasped, fingers entwined. The sky was cerulean blue, not a cloud in sight. Leaves crunched under their feet. The pond, home to ducks and swans alike, shone irradiant where the sun hit the water. Harry tipped his head back, gazing at the endless blue, cloudless sky, a light breeze ruffling his messy hair.

“Do you think we were fated to be together?” He asked conversationally.

Draco wrinkled his nose. “I suppose so. As the Muggles always say, everything happens for a reason. Why?”

Harry shrugged. Their shoulders brushed. “Just wondering.”

“I think we were. I was always drawn to you as a kid, before I ever even met you,” Draco said, a smile pulling at his lips. “And then I _did_ meet you, and even though we were enemies and I hated you, I always remained drawn to you.”

Harry grinned. “It always was you and me, wasn’t it? Seeker versus Seeker, Gryffindor versus Slytherin.

Draco hummed in agreement. “Yes, it was. Remember when we first met? Let’s go back to that, shall we?”

“Oh, please. You’re just mad that I rejected you and your horrible idea of friendship,” Harry laughed. “And I’m not sorry about it. You acted like a git.”

”Yes, well,” Draco huffed, rolling his eyes, “at the time, I thought it was a very sound proposal.”

“Yes, I’m sure you did,” Harry replied. He squeezed Draco’s hand, and Draco squeezed back. “Let’s not forget second year.” He turned to Draco, and whispered, low and hot in his ear, “Scared, Malfoy?”

Draco shivered and then laughed, wicked and sharp. “You wish,” he teased back.

All around them, birds sang cheerful melodies, bright and happy as Harry and Draco walked along, both lost in memories of Hogwarts, a castle that contains magic and shadows, enchantment and blood.

Harry thought back to third year, when Draco, the git, dressed up like a Dementor, hoping to give Harry a fright. He remembered fourth year, green _Potter Stinks!_ badges passed around like candy. He snorted.

Beside him, Draco was lost in his own memories. He recalled fifth year, knowing Harry and his gang were up to _something_ , and hoping to catch them at it, versus sixth year, when this time it wasn’t Harry up to something but Draco instead. He had been so alone, with only a ghost for company.

“You okay?” Harry asked, watching him carefully. “You seem sad all of a sudden.”

Draco mentally shook himself. “I’m fine. Just thinking,” He replied.

“Well, stop that. Nothing good happens when one reflects back to the past,” Harry declared. “Especially if it’s you reflecting. You get all broody and sad—“

“I do not!” Draco interrupted with a laugh. “Besides, _you_ started it, going on and on about us being fate.”

“I did not go _on and on_ , I mentioned it once—“

And, hand-in-hand, they continued bickering until they had circled the park twice. To anyone else, the two boys might have seemed odd, passing sharp jabs back and forth while holding hands all the while, but to them it was as comfortable and normal as a lazy summer day spent lounging in the sun.

A short time later, Harry stifled a yawn. “Let's head back. I’m starving, and wouldn’t mind some tea.” Harry flashed a smile in Draco direction. “If a certain tall, blond, handsome bloke wouldn’t mind brewing it….”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “And why can’t _you_ do it? As far as I can tell, you have two perfectly able hands” —still holding Harry’s hand, he gave it a squeeze— “right here.”

“It tastes better when you make it,” Harry said simply.

“So you’re saying that my tea making ability is yet another thing I beat you at,” Draco said cheerfully. “Glad we got that settled.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother responding. Draco’s tea _was_ better than his.

They continued the walk back to their flat in silence, until Harry asked, “So do you think we were?”

“Were what?” Draco asked. His eyes shone like moonlight.

“Fated to meet. Fated to be together.” Harry said, a bit stupidly. Draco’s eyes were rather distracting.

“Yes, I think we were destiny, _mon chéri._ Practically written in the stars! Now, can you walk faster? Ever since you mentioned my superior tea making skills, I’ve been rather craving a cup,” Draco announced, and pulled a scowling Harry after him.

“You make me wish I was in love with Ginny.” Harry muttered darkly.

Draco shuddered. “I think I saved you. Imagine being in love with a _Weasley_.” He pulled a face.

“Hey!” Harry protested. “There’s nothing wrong with the Weasley’s—“

“Mhmm,” Draco mumbled.

“Sod off,” Harry laughed, as together they walked back to their flat, leaves crunching underfoot.


End file.
